


slow down (we've got time left to be lazy)

by WhatsATerrarium



Category: The Bright Sessions (Podcast)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Guys I know how to write two things, Hurt/Comfort, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, a.) Owen Green getting hurt, b.) Owen Green getting hugged, or otherwise comforted, this is a b fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:41:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24526288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatsATerrarium/pseuds/WhatsATerrarium
Summary: Owen lets himself collapse onto the bed without even thinking about it.  He doesn’t have the brainpower to even consider doing anything else.  He doesn’t take his glasses off, he doesn’t tuck himself in, he doesn’t make any effort to even make himself comfortable.  He simply falls backwards onto the comforter the second he approaches the bed.
Relationships: Joan Bright/Owen Thompson | Agent Green
Kudos: 16





	slow down (we've got time left to be lazy)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RadioFreeHayden](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RadioFreeHayden/gifts).



> I originally deemed this too dumb and self-indulgent to post but I ran it by CJ and she threatened to hold her feedback of the fic hostage until I posted it, and as we all know (or should know by now) I'm a greedy little validation whore.
> 
> Title is from "The Gambler" by fun.

Owen lets himself collapse onto the bed without even thinking about it. He doesn’t have the brainpower to even consider doing anything else. He doesn’t take his glasses off, he doesn’t tuck himself in, he doesn’t make any effort to even make himself comfortable. He simply falls backwards onto the comforter the second he approaches the bed.

He feels fundamentally exhausted on every level. His back and shoulders are aching and stiff from his uncomfortable desk chair, his eyes feel burnt out from staring at his computer screen, and he’s lost all capability of coherent thought. That doesn’t matter, though. He’s finally done finishing up his work and he’s ready to  _ sleep. _

As it’s occurring to him that the smart thing to do here would be to take off his glasses and actually get himself settled in, he hears the covers rustle beside him. Joan is sitting up.

Owen almost winces. He didn’t mean to wake her.

“Are you finally done?” Her voice is tired, but there’s a tinge of sympathy to it.

He nods tiredly and, upon remembering that she can’t see him in the pitch dark room, speaks up. “Yes. Finally.”

“Good,” she responds. Through the darkness he can still see her rolling over to face him. She moves closer to him and, before he really has time to wonder what she’s doing, she reaches towards his face and takes his glasses off.

She leans over him a bit awkwardly to place them on his nightstand and as she brushes up against him, he feels some strange form of relief wash over him. He’s tired enough for anything resembling human contact to provide comfort.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs as she settles back in beside him. “Didn’t want to wake you up.”

“It’s fine, you didn’t. I woke up a few minutes ago and haven’t been able to fall back asleep yet,” she says reassuringly. “How do you feel?”

Normally he’d lie. He’d tell her that he’s fine and that she should go back to sleep. But he knows that he’s too worn down to lie convincingly right now, so he tells her the truth. “Bad. Tired. Back hurts.” He says it as simply and quickly as possible, getting it out of the way so that she won’t have to be concerned with him for as long.

He expects a kiss and some brief words of comfort before she goes back to trying to sleep, but instead he’s met with:

“Can I help?” she asks with an almost careful tone.

“Hmm?” he responds, thinking that answer a good enough indicator. He’s not entirely sure what she means by ‘help’ but he trusts her enough to know it will likely be helpful.

“Roll over.”   
  
Ah.

He rolls over onto his stomach, burying the side of his face into his pillow comfortably. He can feel the shifting of the weight and hear the creaking of the bed, and then he feels her half-climb over him. Her legs are resting on either side of his waist, but she’s sitting up enough so as not to be putting any weight on him.

“Joan…” he sighs, sounding almost defeated. “You should go back to sleep.”

She ignores him. Instead of replying, she leans forward a bit and places her hands on his shoulders, starting to rub them through his shirt.

He lets out another sigh, this one much more involuntary and relaxed, and she continues.

“Owen?” she asks seriously after a minute.   
  
“Yes?” he mumbles in response, half asleep.

“Call in sick tomorrow.” She punctuates her sentence by pressing her hand down on the stiff part of his back, just below his shoulder blade, which he’ll admit makes it a bit difficult to argue with her.   
  
“But—”

“You’ve been miserable all week, Owen. Tomorrow’s friday, and I know you have the weekend off. If you go into work tomorrow you’re just going to come home with more files and more excuses to work. Take a break.”

He means to say something about needing to prove himself, something about wanting a promotion, or maybe even something petty about proving that Ellie wasn’t the only good worker in the division.

Instead, he just lets out a little hum, something halfway between exhausted and content.

“If you call in sick, so will I,” she continues persuasively.   
  
“That won’t be suspicious at all.”

“Ellie would know it’s entirely likely that both of us are sick. One of us could have caught it from the other.”

“Okay, fine,” he sighs, conceding to her point. “I’ll call in sick.”

“Promise?”

“Promise,” he mumbles, burying his head deeper into his pillow. He yawns and squeezes his eyes shut as she continues to rub his back.

He finds himself growing almost more tired than before. His muscles begin to relax and his consciousness starts to flutter. The world feels like it’s spinning around him for a moment until it stills and he feels himself start to drift off. His sense of calm and peace is overwhelming as he finally falls asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> So a big reason why I don't usually leave comments is that it doesn’t feel like a conversation, it feels too definite. So, as opposed to asking you to leave comments (which I do still very much appreciate and will respond to if that’s your thing), I’m going to let you know how to contact me!
> 
> Instagram: whats_a_terrarium  
> Discord: whats_a_terrarium#0251  
> Tumblr: whats-a-terrarium  
> Twitter: whatsaterrarium
> 
> If you have any thoughts, ideas, constructive criticism, or just want to ramble, never hesitate! :)


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